9:50 PM

Peter, peering through a hole in the wall of a large clump of azaleas, could see Oscar approaching right on time. No doubt Oscar was a pro if a bit of a fanatic. Another ten steps and Peter stepped out of the shrubs right beside Oscar, who in spite of his professionalism, jumped and gasped, “Holy God” in Russian. Peter said, “Are you Russian?”

“Martin, you scared the shit out of me. No contact for three years and you jump out of the bushes.”

“Okay. My report doesn’t have to mention a pro like you cursing in Russian in a very loud voice. You have been left alone for a long time. Let’s keep strolling up the street. First question, are you comfortable in your new cover position and new town?”

“Yes. I have a perfect set up. A job that gives me access to the Metro system and I have a small chem lab over my garage that has everything I need to make ricin.”

“Do you have enough for your mission?”

“I have enough to do several Metro stations. Just give me the word. I hate these smug Americans and their precious freedom at the cost of their downtrodden class of workers. They need a good taste of Russian-style freedom to work your ass off for the benefit of those who need more than they can earn.”

“Is the ricin in a safe place that you can get to in a hurry when we need to strike?”

“Absolutely, it is stored in my lab.”

“How about the American woman you live with? Does she know where it is?”

“No. She has no idea. She can visit me in the lab where I work on my research for another degree from a university that works by mail and taped lessons. I have a homemade lock box behind an American flag hanging on the wall. It is not easy to find. Even if anyone looked behind the flag, they would find nothing without finding the secret opening in the wood panel walls. What about my decoding pads? I miss not being able to get broadcast secret messages.”

“I agree. It would make my job much easier and safer. But Moscow believes there is a weakness in the system. We have lost a few agents, and Moscow suspects the broadcast system. I can’t figure out how that could be. But I don’t tell them what to do.

“One last question. Do you want to go back to the USSR or just retire here when the time comes?”

“I don’t want to go back until I get to do my part by killing hundreds of our enemies, and I never would want to retire here. I want to go home whenever the Center decides.”

Peter saw that they were approaching the kill zone he had selected to use, if necessary. Oscar was looking straight ahead. Peter dropped back a half step, and in a blur of movement put his left hand around Oscar’s head, faking a clockwise twist and then pulling his forehead while Peter’s right hand pushed his chin hard in a counter-clockwise move. The twisting motion from both hands and a body pivot to the left snapped Oscar’s neck. Peter swung his hip, knocking Oscar into the shrubs and out of sight from the street. He looked around again, saw no one, and continued walking to his parked car a block away on a side street. Twenty minutes later, Peter was back at the hotel. He left again in an hour with a short report for Frank Batcher.

Peter slipped his report into the mailbox and called Frank’s home from a pay phone in a McLean gas station. When Frank answered, Peter said, “I lied. I put another package into your mailbox. The agent is dead. His address is in the report I put in your box. You need to get into his house quickly, though you might want to wait until his body is found. He has enough ricin in his lab for several attacks on a metro system during rush hour. His hiding place is described in the report. The woman living in the house knows nothing about who he really was or what he was doing. Goodbye.”