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“No,” Mannberg said. “I know for a fact that the chief thinks very highly of General Greene. And, as far as I know, the reverse is true.”

“The speed with which gossip travels is often a function of how nasty, and untrue, the gossip is,” Wassermann said. “What kind of an exchange?”

“Well, we don’t know for sure—our contact didn’t use names. Just that we have something they want which they wish to exchange for something they have.”

“Can you tell me what we have?”

“We think Serov is talking about Polkóvnik Sergei Likharev of the NKGB, who the chief turned and moved to Argentina.”

“I didn’t know we—you—had Likharev,” Wassermann said. “But I suppose there’s a lot of interesting things I’m not told about.”

“That happens to all of us, I suppose,” Mannberg said.

“If you don’t feel comfortable answering this, don’t,” Wassermann said. “But the first things that popped into my mind just now were surprise that you were—your chief was—able to turn someone as senior as Sergei Likharev. And then I wondered if he’s really been turned, or whether Merkulov has misinformation, important misinformation, that he wants to feed our side through Likharev.”

“That’s still possible, I suppose, but everything he’s given to us since the chief got Likharev’s wife, Natalia, and their sons, Sergei and Pavel, out of Russia and to Argentina has been both valuable and has checked out.”

“That’s amazing. I hadn’t heard about that, either. But now that would seem to suggest posing the very difficult question to you: Who is more valuable, Polkóvnik Sergei Likharev or Colonel Bob Mattingly?”

“You knew—know—Colonel Mattingly?”

“Yes, I do. He’s a fine man and a fine officer.”

“I don’t know if exchanging Colonel Mattingly is on the table. I would judge probably not. Which brings me to the answer to your question about what you—the CIC—can do for the DCI. The chief decided—and I think he’s right—that we should meet with Comrade Serov to hear what he has to say. And we will. But Mr. Cronley and I want to ensure that we’ll come back to the Bristol after dinner, perhaps to have a beer and some salted peanuts in the bar.”

“Well, I can certainly understand how much our Soviet friends would like to have a chat with you in the basement of that building on Lubyanka Square.”

“But even better for them, wouldn’t you agree, would be to have the chief, DCI-Europe, in the Lubyanka basement?”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“I think you do, Carl,” Mannberg said.

After a visibly thoughtful moment, Wassermann nodded.

“I was wondering if you were going to tell me,” he said.

“Who told you? The identity of DCI-Europe is classified. Classified, specifically, as Top Secret–Presidential.”

Wassermann didn’t reply.

“You can consider that an order, Colonel Wassermann,” Mannberg said.

“I’m not sure you have that authority, Mr. Mannberg.”

“He does,” Cronley said.

“I have no question about you having that authority, Mr. Cronley,” Wassermann began.

Cronley’s mouth ran away with him when he saw the look on Spurgeon’s face. His jaw had dropped.

“Close your mouth, Charley”—Jesus, I just remembered your first name—“or flies will swarm in.”

Wassermann and Mannberg both chuckled.

Wassermann then said, “What happened was that General Greene came to see me—”

Jesus Christ, and I thought Greene could be trusted!