involvement, will there not?"
"So many incidents have unforeseen political ramifications, Comrade General—it may be difficult to avoid. May I smoke?"
"Yes—you may burn if you wish." Varakov nodded, half-wishing the man would. He watched as Rozhdestvenskiy took from under his uniform tunic a silver cigarette
case, the^ cigarettes in it looking more American than Russian; then a lighter that perfectly matched the case, and Ht the cigarette in its steady flame. The new KGB colonel—the new Karamatsov, Varakov thought—like the man he replaced, was too reminiscent of a Nazi for Varakov to feel remotely comfortable around him. SS—the perfect physical specimen, the blond-haired superman—only this one was a Marxist rather than a National Socialist. "And what is your first order of business, Colonel?"
"Two matters are pressing, Comrade General. Perhaps not of the greatest importance, but something which must be accomplished. We do not know,"
"I thought the KGB knew everything." Varakosmiled, starting to walk around the figures of the mastodons, still inspecting them as if they were his troops.
Rozhdestvenskiy smiled when Varakov glanced at him "Hardly, Comrade General—but to know everything is our goal. No—this is a rather esoteric matter, perhaps; one with which you are conversant, I am sure. It is the matter of the mysterious Eden Project and what il actually was or is.
Shortly before leaving our headquar ters in Moscow, I learned of the efforts of a heroic Soviel agent. He had stolen some information regarding th< Eden Project and information regarding other matters a; well, things which were held at the highest security levels in what was the United States. Because of the sensitive nature of the information, he was bringing it to Moscov personally. When the war broke out—"
"Yes—do you recall? I believe it was Napoleon, wasn'i it? A messenger reportedly came to him. Napoleon reac the message and proclaimed something to the effect: rM) God, peace has broken out!' It was something like that.'
office? Or is that not covered in the KGB training school?"
Rozhdestvenskiy smiled, still standing more or less at attention, saying, "Comrade General—you are as noted for your wit as you are for your brilliant stratagems."
"That was not an answer to niy question," Varakov said flatly, then turned to study the figures of the mastodons. "You have come to replace Karamatsov as head of the American branch of KGB. Anti you have come to tell me where the military and the KGB will draw the proverbial line.
That is correct?"
He heard the voice behind him. "Yes, Comrade General—that is correct. The Politburo has decided—"
" know what the Politburo has decided,' Varakov told him evenly. "That the KGB should have greater authority here, and that you, as Karamatsov's best friend in life should be his successor in death. That KGB will have the final word—not the military."
"That is correct, Comrade General."
Varakov turned around, slowly, facing the vastly younger and slightly taller man.
Rozhdestvenskiy continued speaking. "In matters that strictly involve the military, of course, yours will be the final word, Comrade General. But in matters where the KGB—"
"In any matters," Varakov interrupted, ctI am sure there will be KGB
involvement, will there not?"
"So many incidents have unforeseen political ramifications, Comrade General—it may be difficult to avoid. May I smoke?"
"Yes—you may burn if you wish." Varakov nodded, half-wishing the man would. He watched as Rozhdestvenskiy took from under his uniform tunic a silver cigarette
case, the^ cigarettes in it looking more American than Russian; then a lighter that perfectly matched the case, and lit the cigarette in its steady flame. The new KGB colonel—the new Karamatsov, Varakov thought—like the man he replaced, was too reminiscent of a Nazi for Varakov to feel remotely comfortable around him. SS—the perfect physical specimen, the blond-haired superman—only this one was a Marxist rather than a National Socialist. "And what is your first order of business, Colonel?"
"Two matters are pressing, Comrade General. Perhaps not of the greatest importance, but something which must be accomplished. We do not know."
"I thought the KGB knew everything." Varakosmiled, starting to walk around the figures of the mastodons, stil] inspecting them as if they were his troops.
Rozhdestvenskiy smiled when Varakov glanced at him "Hardly, Comrade General—but to know everything is our goal. No—this is a rather esoteric matter, perhaps; one with which you are conversant, I am sure. It is the matter of the mysterious Eden Project and what ii actually was or is.
Shortly before leaving our headquar ters in Moscow, I learned of the efforts of a heroic Soviel agent. He had stolen some information regarding th« Eden Project and information regarding other matters as well, things which were held at the highest security levels in what was the United States. Because of the sensitive nature of the information, he was bringing it to Moscow personally. When the war broke out—"
"Yes—do you recall? I believe it was Napoleon, wasn'i it? A messenger reportedly came to him. Napoleon reac the message and proclaimed something to the effect: rM) God, peace has broken out!' It was something like that.'
"Yes, something like that, Comrade General." Rozhdestvenskiy nodded.
"This agent—what word did he bring you?" Varakov felt himself smile.
"Surely not that peace had broken out.
"He brought word of precisely where duplicate files on the Eden Project were hidden, in addition to the first .copy files which were destroyed during the bombing oi the Johnson Space Center in Texas. There is now renewed hope that—"
"You hope for that then. I have more pressing matters than some American defense project so obscure that—"
"I know what you hope." Rozhdestvenskiy nodded. "As the wife of my lifelong friend Colonel Karamatsov, the life of Major Tiemerovna is my concern as well. Surely in all the troop movements from the East Coast of the continent there has been some word—"
"Nothing," Varakov answered sincerely. "She was last seen helping in the evacuation of Florida at an airfield, only moments before the major earthquake struck and a high-altitude observation plane photographed the beginning of the Florida peninsula's collapse into the ocean."
"She was with the American agent, Rourke, was she not, Comrade General?"
Rozhdestvenskiy asked. Is he trying to sound innocent, Varakov asked himself, realizing that for an instant the charming, handsome, blond officer had penetrated his defenses, made him feel there was something of a genuine concern for Natalia's welfare.
"I believe so—but that is only from a—" he began defensively.
Rozhdestvenskiy cut him off. "A reliable report, I
believe, Comrade General? This other matter to which I hope to attend—I confess both a personal and professional interest in the safe return of your niece. The major may be able to aid me in locating the war criminal Rourke—"
"War criminal?" Varakov repeated, without really thinking.
"Surely, the assassination of the head of the American KGB by this Rourke is a war crime, Comrade General. I understand he was a physician before going into the employ of the American Central Intelligence Agency."
Varakov picked his words—carefully—for the first time realizing what kind of man he truly dealt with. "It is my understanding that this Dr. Rourke had left the CIA sometime before the war. I do not really concern myself with him. I belive his major preoccupation is searching for his wife and children who may have survived the war; I do not know. If you capture him, I should be interested in meeting him. But that is your affair."
"Yes, Comrade General. That is my affair." Rozhdestvenskiy dropped his cigarette to the marble floor and started to grind it out beneath the heel of his boot.