"Good morning, John Clark," a man's voice said behind him.
"Good morning, Dmitriy Arkadeyevich," John replied, without turning at first.
"Very good," the voice said approvingly. "I congratulate you on learning one of my names."
"We have good intelligence support," Johnwent on, without turning.
"You had a pleasant flight?"
"A fast one. I've never done the Concorde before. It was not unpleasant. So, Dmitriy, what can I do for you?"
"I must first of all apologize to you for my contacts with Grady and his people."
"What about the other operations?" Clark asked as a dangle, something of a gamble,. but he was in a gambling mood.
"Those did not concern you directly, and only one person was killed."
"But that one was a sick little girl," John observed too quickly.
"No, I had nothing to do with Worldpark. The bank in Bern, and the stock-trader outside Vienna, yes, those were my missions, but not the amusement park."
"So, you have implicated yourself in three terrorist operations. That is against the law, you know."
"Yes, I am aware of that," the Russian replied dryly.
"So, what can I do for you?" John asked again.
"It is more what I can do for you, Mr. Clark."
"And that is?" Still he didn't turn. But there had to be half a dozen FBI agentswatching, maybe one with a shotgun microphone to record the exchange. In his haste to come over, Clark hadn't been able to get a proper recording system for his suit.
"Clark, I can give you the reason for the missions, and the name of the man who instigated it all-it is quite monstrous. I only discovered yesterday, not even twenty-four hours ago, what the purpose for all of this is."
"So, what is the objective?" John asked.
"To kill almost every human being on the planet," Popov replied.
That made Clark stop walking and turn to look at the man. The KGB file mug shot was pretty good, he saw. "Is this some sort of movie script?" he asked coldly.
"Clark, yesterday I was in Kansas. There I learned the plan for this `project.' I shot and killed the person who told me so that I could escape. The man I killed was Foster Hunnicutt, a hunterguide from Montana. I shot him in the chest with his own Colt forty-four pistol. From there I went to the nearest highway and managed to beg a ride to the nearest regional airport, from there to Kansas City, and from there to New York. I called you from my hotel room less than eight hours ago. Yes, Clark, I know you have thepower to arrest me. You must have security watching us right now, presumably from your FBI," he said as they walked into the area with the animal cages. "And so you need only wave your hand and I will be arrested, and I have just told you the name of the man I shot, and the location where it was done. Plus you have me for inciting terrorist incidents, and I presume for drugtrafficking as well. I know this, yet I have asked for this meeting. Do you suppose that I am joking with you, John Clark?"
"Perhaps not," Rainbow Six answered, looking closely at the man.
"Very well, and in that case I propose that you have us taken to the local FBI office or some other secure place, so that I can give you the information you need under controlled circumstances. I require only your word that I will not be detained or arrested."
"You would believe me if I were to say that?"
"Yes. You are CIA, and you know the rules of the game, do you not?"
Clark nodded. "Okay, you have my word-if you're telling me the truth."
"John Clark, I wish I were not," Popov said. "Truly I wish I were not, tovarich. "John looked hard into his eyes, and in them he saw fear… no, something deeper than fear. This guy had just called him comrade. That meant something, particularly under these circumstances.
"Come on," John told him, turning around and heading for Fifth Avenue.
"That's our subject, guys," a female agent said over the radio circuit. "That is subject Serov all gift-wrapped like a toy from F.A.O. Schwarz. Wait. They're turning around, heading east to Fifth."
"No shit?" Frank Chatham asked. Then he saw them walking very quickly to where the van was parked.
"You got a safe house around here?" Clark asked.
"Well, yeah, we do, but-"
"Get us there, right now!" Clark ordered. "You can terminate your cover operation at once, too. Get in, Dmitriy," he said, opening the sliding door.
The safe house was only ten blocks away. Sullivan parked the van, and all four men went inside.
CHAPTER 37
The safe house was a four-story brownstone that had been given to the federal government decades before by a grateful businessman whose kidnapped son had been recovered alive by the Federal Bureau of Investigation. It was used mainly for interviewing UN diplomats who worked in one way or another for the U.S. government, and had been one of the places used by Arkady Schevchenko, still the highest-ranking Soviet defector of all time. Outwardly unremarkable, inside it had an elaborate security system and three rooms outfitted with recording systems and twoway mirrors, plus the usual tables, and more comfortable chairs than normal. It was manned around the clock, usually by a rookie agent in the New York field division whose purpose was merely that of doorman.
Chatham took them to the top-floor interview room and sat Clark and Popov down in the windowless cubicle. The microphone was set up, and the reel-to-reel tape recorder set to turning. Behind one of the mirrors, aTV camera and attendant VCR was set up as well.
"Okay," Clark said, announcing the date, time, and place. "With me is Colonel Dmitriy Arkadeyevich Popov, retired, of the former Soviet KGB. The subject of this interview is international terrorist activity. My name is John Clark, and I am a field officer of the Central Intelligence Agency. Also here are-"
"Special Agent Tom Sullivan-"
"And-"
"Special Agent Frank Chatham-"
"Of the FBI's New York office. Dimitriy, would you please begin?" John said.
It was intimidating as hell for Popov to do this, and it showed in the first few minutes of his narrative. The two FBI agents showed total incredulity on their faces for the first half hour, until he got to the part about his morning rides in Kansas.
"Maclean? What was his first name?" Sullivan asked. "Kirk, I think, perhaps Kurt, but I think it ended with a K," Popov replied. "Hunnicutt told me that he'd kidnapped people here in New York to be used as guinea pigs for this Shiva sickness."
"Fuck," Chatham breathed. "What does this guy look like?"
Popov told them in very accurate terms,down to hair length and eye color.