〃Under the circumstances； that'll have to do。 In the meantime； try to get some rest on the flight。 This thing is just getting started。〃
Anthony Price was in his expansive office on the sixth floor of the NSA headquarters at Fort Meade； Maryland。 As deputy director； Price was responsible for the agency's day…to…day operations。 Right now； that meant keeping his staff on top of the situation in Moscow。 So far； the Russians were sticking with the story that Chechen rebels were responsible for the massacre… which suited Price just fine。 It gave him a legitimate reason to cover the incident。 And the longer the Russians chased the phantom terrorists； the easier it would be for Beria and Treloar to slip through the net。
Price looked up when he heard the knock on his door。 〃e in。〃
Price's senior analyst； a stout young woman with a librarian's fussy air about her； entered。
〃The latest update from our resources on the ground in Moscow； sir；〃 she said。 〃Seems that General Kirov is very concerned about some surveillance video out of Sheremetevo in Moscow。〃
Price felt a constriction in his chest but managed to keep his voice level。 〃Really？ Why？ Who's on the tape？〃
〃No one knows。 But for some reason the Russians red…flagged it。 Apparently the video is very poor。〃
Price's mind was racing。 〃That's it？〃
〃For now； sir。〃
〃I want you to stay on top of that video。 Anyone hears word one about it； I want to know。〃
〃Yes； sir。〃
After the analyst left； Price turned to his puter and called up the flights ing into Dulles。 There was only one reason that the Russians would be so interested in the video surveillance tapes： Beria had been seen with somebody。 And that person could only be Adam Treloar。
American 1710 was scheduled to arrive in a little over six hours。 Russian photo analysis and enhancement was hardly state of the art。 It would take their machines hours to float up images。 By that time； 1710 should be on the ground and Adam Treloar would be safe。
Price sat back in his executive leather chair； removed his glasses； and tapped a stem against his front teeth。 The situation in Moscow had degenerated into a near…fiasco。 That Beria had escaped the carnage at the train station was nothing short of miraculous。 Equally amazing was the fact that he'd gotten to Sheremetevo in time to hand off the smallpox to Adam Treloar。
But the surveillance cameras had caught a connection between the two men。 Kirov had the connection。 As soon as he'd reconstructed Treloar's picture； he would run it against the customs and immigration databanks。 He would discover exactly when Treloar had entered and left Russia。 He would alert the CIA and FBI liaisons at the embassy。
Then we'd start running Treloar to ground； if for no other reason than he was seen with Beria。。。。 But does Kirov suspect that Treloar is the actual courier？
Price didn't think so。 So far； everything indicated that the hunt was centered on Beria。 And the Russians were getting close。 The bulletins ing in from NSA assets in St。 Petersburg indicated intense counterintelligence activity in there。
Price pulled up another set of arrivals。 There it was； the Finnair flight； five hours out of Dulles。 Could the Russians pull together their information and confirm that Beria had flown out of St。 Petersburg？ If they sounded the alarms； how long would it take FBI to throw a net over Dulles？
Not long。
〃That's all the time you have； friend；〃 Price said to the screen。
Reaching for the phone； he punched in Richardson's secure number。 The master plan had called Beria's presence in the United States a contingency。 But with the exposure of Treloar inevitable； that status was about to change。
Major…General Kirov had been on his feet for the better part of twenty…four hours。 Painkillers； Lara Telegin's unspeakable betrayal； and an insatiable desire to find Ivan Beria kept him going。
Staring out his office window at the gathering twilight； Kirov reviewed the situation。 In spite of what he had told Klein； the search for Beria was still concentrated in Moscow。 He had listened to what the American had had to say； and had been openly skeptical about his theory that the killer had run to St。 Petersburg in order to get out of Russia。 Kirov believed that the fiasco at the train station had pletely shattered Beria's intricate plan。 Obviously a contact； perhaps ready to take the smallpox； had been waiting close by。 Equally true was that the shooting would have frightened him off。 Certainly there would have been a fallback rendezvous point。 But between the police； the militia； and the security forces； Kirov had more than eight thousand men scouring the city； all searching for a single face。 The monster from the Balkans could move around only at great peril to himself… and to his contact。 Knowing Beria as well as he did； Kirov believed that he had gone to ground somewhere in the city。 That being the case； it was just a matter of time before he was flushed and the stolen smallpox retrieved。
But for all his certainty； Kirov knew better than to place all his bets on a single roll of the dice。 Honoring his promise to Klein； he had called the head of the Federal Security Service in St。 Petersburg。 The FSS and the police already had Beria's description and particulars； the call from Moscow put some starch into their search。 Kirov had instructed the FSS mander to concentrate his resources on the train and bus stations… places where Beria would most likely have entered the city… and on the airport。 At the same time； passenger manifests and airport security videos were to be thoroughly checked。 If there was the slightest possibility that Beria had been or still was in St。 Petersburg； Kirov was to be notified immediately。
Two hours after American 1710 had departed London； Adam Treloar finished his dinner wine and stowed his meal tray into the armrest of his seat。 Ambling to the lavatory； he washed his hands and brushed his teeth using the supplies provided in the amenities kit。 On the way back to his seat； he decided to stretch his legs。
Pulling back the curtain； he stepped into business class and walked down the left…hand aisle of the darkened partment。 Some of the passengers were watching a movie on their personal video screens； others were either working； reading； or sleeping。
Treloar continued all the way to the back of the economy section； made the turn at the lavatories； and returned up the right…hand aisle。 Back in the business section； he stopped abruptly as a calculator fell at his feet。 He leaned down to pick it up and was handing it to the passenger in the aisle seat when he chanced to look across at the man by the window； asleep。
〃Are you all right？〃 the passenger whispered。
Treloar nodded and took two quick steps forward； slipping behind the curtain into first class。
Impossible！ It can't be him。
His breath came in deep gasps as he tried desperately to calm himself。 The sleeping man in the window seat had had his face to him： Jon Smith。
〃Can I get you something； sir？〃
Treloar stared at the flight attendant who'd e up to him。 〃No。。。 thank you。〃
He hurried back to his seat； settled in； and pulled a blanket over himself。
Treloar remembered meeting Smith in Houston。 He had made the mistake of revealing that he had overheard Reed talking about Venice and Smith。 Reed had warned him that Smith was not his business。 He had assured Treloar that there was no reason why the doctor should ever again cross Treloar's path。
Then what's he doing here？ Is he following me？
The questions pounded at Treloar as he glanced down at his carry…on； tucked beside the bulkhead。 In his mind's eye； he saw the shiny canister； and inside； the ampoules with their deadly golden…yellow liquid。 Too paralyzed to move； he tried to rein in his panic。
Think logically！ I f Smith knew about the smallpox； would he have allowed you to get onboard in London？ Of course not！ You'd be in chains right now。 So he doesn't know。 His being here is a coincidence。 It must be！
His reasoning calmed him a little； but as soon as one set of questions was answered； another popped up： Maybe Smith was aware that he was carrying the virus； but there hadn't been time to safely ar