"Have you been waiting long, Peter?"

"You know damn well how long I've been here."

"How was she?"

"I don't understand."

"Do you really think I don't know what you've been doing while I sat here twiddling my thumbs?"

"I'm sure I have no idea what you think I was doing. However, that's not why you're here, is it?"

"No, it isn't."

"Well, then... why have you come?"

"We lost the plutonium."

"You what?"

"You're not listening to me, Malcolm. That's a very bad habit to develop. I said we lost the plutonium."

"In heaven's name how?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

"That's preposterous. How should I know?" Parsons got to his feet, one of his nervous habits. He paced back and forth along the length of the large walnut table between them. Looking for something to occupy his hands, he grabbed a poker to stir the ashes in the earth, then busied himself with rebuilding the fire. Finally, unable to stall any longer, he returned to his chair. "Tell me what happened."

"I don't know what happened. The plutonium left West Virginia, but it never got to Philadelphia. None of the men have returned, and there's no one at the rendezvous point."

"No one?"

"That's what I said."

Achison, sensing he had Parsons on the defensive, stood up. Crossing to the other side of the table, he stood behind Parsons, placing his hands on the back of the seated man's chair.

"There was nothing, and no one, there."

"I knew something like this would happen. I just knew it. I told you no one was to be hurt. Those policemen, you shouldn't have done that."

"I already told you. We had no choice. Besides, that's spilled milk. What matters is the plutonium."

"How did you find out?"

"When the shipment didn't show up in Philadelphia, our clients contacted me. Understandably, they were upset. They thought, perhaps still do, that someone was trying to pull a fast one on them. Of course, I reassured them on that score. I only wish I were as certain as I claimed to be."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that until I know what did happen I have to assume anything could have, might have."

"Are you suggesting that I had anything to do with this?"

"You knew where the plutonium was, didn't you?"

"Of course. I was the one who organized the transportation. You know that."

"How about your people? How trustworthy are they?"

"I can vouch for them all."

"What about our little snitch?"

"What about her? She didn't know where the stuff was."

"Are you sure?"

"Certain."

Achison hoped that Parsons was getting the distinct impression that he was being grilled. He knew the antinuke leader didn't like it. He wasn't used to being in the hot seat. Achison rather enjoyed watching the erosion of the man's confidence. He kept the pressure on, partly to make certain that Parsons was telling the truth, but mostly because he enjoyed watching Parsons squirm.

Neither man noticed the door open.

"How pathetic you are!" Achison turned, his mouth hanging in midsentence.

"Who the hell are you?" Parsons demanded.

The new arrival walked to the table and sat down.

"Why don't you introduce us, Mr. Achison?"

Achison shuffled his feet. "Malcolm Parsons, Andrey Glinkov."

Parsons looked at Glinkov. "Who the hell are you? I don't know you. What are you doing here?"

"You idiot," Glinkov spat. "Who do you think pays for all of this?" He swept his hand around the kitchen, a gesture meant to encompass far more than their immediate surroundings. "You work for me, Mr. Parsons. So does Mr. Achison."

Parsons turned to Achison. "What the hell is he talking about? Who is he? What's going on here?"

"Like the man says, Malcolm. We work for him."

"The hell I do. I'm my own boss. Always have been. You better leave while you still have the opportunity." Parsons stood up angrily. He walked to the end of the table and called into the room beyond. "Bert, get in here! Now!"

Silence. Either Bert hadn't heard or he was part of this outrage.

"Sit down," Glinkov said. His voice was soft, almost gentle. But there was no mistaking its steely edge. "I am more than a little annoyed at what has happened."

"What are you talking about? Annoyed at what? What business do you have being annoyed at anything?"

"I pay the bills, Mr. Parsons. And right now I don't believe I'm getting my money's worth. Where is the plutonium?"

"How did you... would you please tell me what's going on here?"

"That's precisely what I want you to tell me, Mr. Parsons. What happened to the plutonium?"

"I, uh... I don't know. I didn't even know it was missing, until a few minutes ago. Isn't that right, Peter?" He turned to Achison for support, but the latter merely shook his head.

"I don't know, Andrey. I was just trying to find that out myself when you walked in."

Glinkov leaned back in the chair. He sighed with equal parts of exasperation and disappointment. "Oh, Malcolm, what are we to do with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Obviously you have bungled your assignment, at least insofar as Ms Peres is concerned. You were supposed to make good use of her, Mr. Parsons. But it seems she has made more use of you."

"She didn't even know about the plutonium."

"Can you prove that?"

"I swear she didn't know. I let her leak some information, like Peter wanted, but she didn't know where the stuff was hidden. There's no way she could have told anyone. She didn't know."

"Then what happened, Mr. Parsons? Who did know? Who told Mack Bolan?"

"Who's Bolan? I don't know anybody by that name." Parsons looked helplessly from Achison to Glinkov and back.

"Peter will brief you on him later. Right now I'm more interested in seeing to it that he doesn't interfere in any more of our activities."

"But..."

"Shut up, Mr. Parsons. Shut up and listen. This is what I want you to do."

Quickly Glinkov sketched his plan. Rachel Peres was to be taken to a "people's prison." There was to be no announcement. In due course, Glinkov knew, the underground would buzz with the story. Sooner or later, it would reach Bolan. But no effort was to be made to ensure that it did, lest Bolan realize he was being set up.

Glinkov knew that, being uninvited, Bolan was certain to show. Their silence was designed to attract his interest. It would, of course, be a trap.

Achison was to be in charge.

"I hope I have made myself perfectly clear. Any questions, Peter? Mr. Parsons?"

Each man shook his head. Whether they understood was less certain than that they wanted Andrey Glinkov to disappear for the rest of the evening. Parsons felt a surge of gratitude that Achison had been present. Something in Glinkov gave him the chills. There was such certitude in the man's voice. Obviously he wasn't used to having subordinates fail him. Parsons chose not to think about what might happen should this latest effort end abortively.

Achison, on the other hand, was glad to see Parsons ground under Glinkov's thumb. The bastard had it coming. As many times as he'd tried, he had been unable to ruffle Parsons's feathers.

Glinkov, master of the art, had had no trouble at all. And sharing the burden of Glinkov's icy stare made the room seem warmer by half. His contempt for Parsons hadn't been diminished, but he had discovered a reluctant kinship. It must have been like that for enemies chained to the same bench in a Roman galley. The lash bit everyone with equal indifference. A shared hatred made allies of the oddest kind.

Glinkov sat silently. He despised both of them. Neither was more than a tool for the KGB man. And tools were made to be used, then thrown away, replaced by newer, better tools. He stood abruptly. "Peter, you'll be hearing from me. Goodbye, Mr. Parsons."