As Isaacs headed home Wednesday evening he was concentrating on the upcoming event in Nagasaki, only a few hours away, a little after eleven in the morning Japanese time, July 8, allowing for the International Dateline. Would they learn anything useful? And, if so, for god's sake what? What were they dealing with? He replayed in his mind the interchange in La Jolla. Russians? Extraterrestrials? Damn it all anyway! He failed to notice that he had been following the same dark sedan all along MacArthur Boulevard nor did he notice the limousine that pulled in behind him as they neared Georgetown.
The sedan pulled into the quiet narrow street Isaacs always took to get home, and Isaacs followed. Part way along the block the sedan braked, and Isaacs also did so mechanically. The sedan's back-up lights came on, and it reversed to within a few feet of Isaacs's bumper. He felt a momentary hint of irritation at the delay and then looked back over his shoulder, preparing to back up himself to give room. All he saw was the hood of the limousine. At the same moment, someone opened his door and he jerked around with surprise.
A tall figure in a dark suit was silhouetted in the doorway. The man bent down, revealing a broad-featured face that was vaguely familiar.
'Mr Isaacs?' The voice was slow, working methodically with an alien tongue. 'Mr Zamyatin would like a word with you.'
Mr Zamyatin was it! Isaacs's eyes followed those of the man back to the limousine. Colonel Grigor Zamyatin was well known in the Agency as the head of the KGB station in the capital, a position that gave him immense power throughout the country, not to mention his own homeland.
Isaacs fixed his eyes on the man again, recognizing now the face from the Agency file on the embassy staff. Yegor Vassilev, a 'secretary' in the visa section.
'Zamyatin be damned,' he said with some heat. 'You can't accost me like this on a public street in my own country!'
'Please, Mr Isaacs,' Vassilev replied in a placating tone, 'Mr Zamyatin said to mention Academician Korolev.'
Isaacs stared. What the hell did that mean? It was on the record that Isaacs had submitted the report suggesting meteorite damage to the Novorossiisk. A report that Korolev had rejected. But this forced liaison was unlikely to have arisen from such an interchange. They must have intercepted his personal letter to Korolev. Resignation mingled with a strong dose of curiosity drove Isaacs out of his seat. Could Zamyatin conceivably be turned to an ally in this bizarre situation?
As he stepped onto the pavement, Vassilev mumbled, 'I will operate your vehicle,' and slipped behind the wheel of the Mercedes.
The rear door to the limousine opened and Isaacs stepped in and sat. Someone outside closed the door, and a deep hush settled into the interior of the car. In a moment they began to move ahead gently.
A half block away an anonymous tan Oldsmobile Cutlass was parked in a driveway. The driver lowered the compact camera he had been using and spoke softly into a microphone. He watched as a van from a Georgetown appliance store pulled around the corner and closed to within a half a block of the limousine. He then backed out and headed in the opposite direction.
In the limousine, Grigor Zamyatin reached across, extending a hand.
'Mr Isaacs,' he said in a carefully developed Midwestern accent.
Isaacs, examining the neatly combed grey hair, the friendly peasant face, the shrewd black eyes, hesitated a moment. Then he took the hand in a firm grip. No sense insulting the man before the cards were on the table. He felt some protest was deserved, however.
'Colonel. I trust you have a good reason for this bit of piracy. You could get me in quite a jam. The Agency frowns on unauthorized clandestine meetings with the opposition.'
'Come, come, Mr Isaacs. I think you will agree we need a quiet, frank chat, man to man. Surely you would not want me to make an official request for an audience. How would you explain that to your Mr Drefke — or to your Mr McMasters?'
Damn! thought Isaacs, even the KGB knows he's on my back.
'In any case,' said Isaacs, 'here we are. What's on your amid?'
'Your role in the Novorossiisk affair, Mr Isaacs. Simply that.'
Isaacs looked at him silently.
'You wrote a very persuasive memo concerning the possibility of a meteorite striking the carrier. Your premise had already been considered, tested, and rejected. Nevertheless, your sincerity, if I may use that word, made a deep impression on Academician Korolev.'
Zamyatin watched closely as he used that name. He saw a slight lifting of the dun. He faced straight ahead and continued.
'You have probably guessed that we are aware of the contents of your personal letter to him.'
'What I don't know is whether he even received it,' said Isaacs, attempting to take the offensive. 'I've had no reply.'
'Oh, he received it. Indeed he did.' Zamyatin glanced sideways at Isaacs. 'He referred to it in some very high circles, and some lowly ones. I myself recently had opportunity to discuss it with him.'
Isaacs ignored the feigned modesty.
'You might be interested to know,' Zamyatin continued, staring ahead over the shoulder of the chauffeur, 'that your letter played a small role in recent events. As you are very aware, an unfortunate series of circumstances has followed from the attack on the Novorossiisk. The decision of your President to confiscate the Cosmos 2112 was a terribly unfortunate and provocative act. His response to our launch of Cosmos 2231 perhaps even more so. The events have taken on a life of their own. The Soviet people do not lightly regard an attack on the sovereignty of our Union , whatever the motivation.'
Zamyatin shifted his gaze to fix on Isaacs.
'But the Soviet people also have a deep concern for truth and justice.'
And the Russian way, thought Isaacs, despite himself. Could all this be an elaborate ruse, he wondered, to further masquerade Soviet complicity in a scheme he could barely fathom?
'If your country were blameless in the case of the Novorossiisk, this is a mitigating circumstance to be considered in any action we might take during subsequent events,' Zamyatin continued.
'Academician Korolev has argued strenuously, using your letter and report as evidence, that your country knows nothing of the attack on the Novorossiisk. This was a factor in the decision not to escalate our response to your recent provocations.'
But what does your country know about the Novorossiisk that you're not telling me? Isaacs asked silently. He chose his words carefully.
'If that is true, then I won't deny some satisfaction. But this rendezvous was not arranged for my pleasure.'
'No,' Zamyatin agreed flatly. 'There is concern at the highest levels in our government to understand the fate of the Novorossiisk. We have gathered some fragmentary evidence of our own for this curious signal you described to Korolev. I am authorized to ask you some questions, that we can better understand the situation.
'Many of my colleagues reject your story. They are convinced of the culpability of your government beginning with the events on the Novorossiisk. They demand to know what you did to the Novorossiisk, and why you, personally, were selected to propagate such a rooster — pardon me, cock and bull story, eh? — about mysterious effects in the earth.'
'Lord deliver me from fools of all persuasions,' Isaacs blurted, throwing his hands up in exasperation. 'Look,' he said heatedly, 'I have no proof to give you, but I do give you my word of honour. No one in my government has a clue to what happened aboard the Novorossiisk — or the Stinson, I remind you. But it's the thick-headed idiots in your government and name who can't see the true threat here who are leading us close to catastrophe.'