He looked white-faced, and when I went tothe door he said urgently, "Can I come in? We need to talk."

The others waited outside on the porchwhile Vitali came into the room with just one other man. He was tall, maybesixty, distinguished, with silver hair. He had an arrogant look about him andhe didn't smile or speak. Then Vitali said, "Bill, I guess you figuredthis is about those papers you found ..."

The other man interrupted sharply."Mr. Massey, my name is Donahue. I'm a Section Head with the CIA. Bobexplained about what you told him. May I see the papers you have, please?"

I handed him the papers.

He looked white. "These arecopies?"

Donahue's tone demanded an explanation. Ilooked at him. "The originals are in a safe place."

A muscle twitched in Donahue's face,suddenly stern, then he glanced at Vitali, before reading slowly through thephotocopies. Finally he sat down with a worried look.

"Mr. Massey, those papers belong tothe CIA."

"They belonged to my father. Heworked for the CIA."

Donahue's voice was firm. "Mr.Massey, we can argue that point all evening but the papers you hold are stillclassified top secret. As such, they are government property."

"It's been over forty years."

"It makes no difference-thatclassification still applies. Anything in those particular papers will never bemade public. The operation referred to in the file was a highly secret andsensitive one. I can't possibly stress both those words enough. The originalpapers, please ..."

"I'll make a deal with you."

"No deals, Massey, the papers,please. Donahue demanded. I was determined not to be bulldozed. "I thinkyou'd better listen to me, Donahue. My father died over forty years ago. Inever knew where or when or how he really died. I want answers. And I want toknow exactly what this Operation Snow Wolf was he became involved in."

"Out of the question, I'mafraid."

"I'm a journalist. I can have thepapers published, and have the article investigated, see if anyone who workedfor the CIA back then remembers something. You might be surprised what it turnsUP."

Donahue paled again. "I can assureyou not a paper in the land will publish anything you may care to write on thematter we're discussing. The CIA would not allow it. And your investigationwould lead absolutely nowhere."

I stared back at him. "So much fordemocracy. Then maybe I couldn't publish here," I said. "But thereare always newspapers abroad you can't control."

Donahue went silent, his brow furrowed,and I could see his mind was ticking over furiously.

:"What do you want, Massey?"

"The answer to those questions. Iwant to know the truth. And I want to meet the people involved with my fatheron that mission, whoever's still alive."

"That's quite impossible. They'reall dead."

"Hardly all of them. There must besomeone. One of those on the pad. Alex Stanski. Anna Khorev. Henri Lebel. lrenaDezov. Whoever they were. I don't just want a report secondhand. You could tellme anything you want. I want evidence. Flesh and blood evidence. Someone tospeak with who knew my father and knew the operation and knows how he reallydied. And," I said firmly, "I want to know what happened to hisbody."

This time Donahue really did turnterribly pale. "Your father was buried in Washington."

"That's a damned lie and you knowit. Look at the copies, Donahue. There's a date written on the last page, 20February 1953, in my father's handwriting. You people told me my father died inEurope on that date. That's the date on his tombstone-20 February. Now I may bedumb, but dead men don't write notes. The CIA said my father died abroad but hewas here in this house on that day. You know something? I don't think you evenburied my father. I don't think you had a body. That's why you people never letme see it, that's why you gave me all that crap about him being in the watertoo long. I was a kid, I wouldn't question not being allowed to see the body.But I'm questioning it now. My father didn't commit suicide. He didn't drownhimself. He died on this Snow Wolf operation, didn't he?"

Donahue gave a weak smile. "Mr.Massey, I think you're being highly speculative, and really over the tophere."

"Then let's not speculate anylonger. I went to see my lawyer. I'm having the body exhumed. And when thatcoffin's opened, I don't think I'll find my father inside. And then I'll haveyou and your superiors dragged into a public court to explain."

Donahue didn't answer, just went a deepred. He was either totally embarrassed or he wasn't used to being spoken tolike that. He looked briefly at Vitali for support, but Bob just sat there, insome kind of shock, like he was dumb-assed or completely in fear of the man orboth.

Finally, Donahue stood up, looking likehe wanted to hit me. "I want you to understand something, Massey. You dothat and you'll find yourself in a whole lot of trouble."

"From whom?"

Donahue didn't reply, just kept staringat me.

I stared back, then adopted a moreconciliatory approach. "If you tell me what really happened to my father,what harm can it do? I'll agree to return the papers. And if it's that secretI'll agree to sign whatever you want pledging my silence afterwards. And don'ttalk to me about trouble, Donahue. Not knowing the truth about my father, beingtold he committed suicide, cost me forty years of trouble and pain." Ilooked at Donahue determinedly. "But believe me, if someone doesn't tellme the truth, I'll do what I say."

Donahue sighed, then looked at meangrily, and his mouth tightened. "May I use your phone?"

"It's in the hall. You passed it onyour way in." Donahue said, "I think I should tell you at this pointthat this matter is no longer within my control. I'm going to make a call, Mr.Massey. A very important call. The person I speak to will have to call someoneelse. Both these people will have to agree before your demands can bemet."

I looked at him. "Whom are you goingto call?"

"The President of the UnitedStates."

It was my turn to react. "And who'she going to call?"

Donahue flicked a look at Vitali, thenback at me.

"The President of Russia."

The rain had stopped and the sun shonewarmly between broken clouds and glinted off the golden onion domes ofNovodevichy Convent.

I looked down at the two simple graveslying in the earth, my father's and the worn and weathered slab beside it.

There was no name and no inscription onthe slab, just blank stone, the way my father's was.

In all Russian cemeteries there are smallchairs facing the graves, a place for relatives to come with a bottle of vodkaand sit and talk to their departed. But there were no chairs beside thesestones, they were forgotten, the ground around them overgrown with weeds andgrass.

I wondered about the grave but knew therewas no use wondering, even though my mind was already racing, knowing by someinstinct there was something about this simple unmarked slab that related to myfather's death.

There was so little I knew and so much tolearn. I hoped Anna Khorev would tell me.

I walked back to the cemetery gates andfound a taxi, drove back through the hot, crowded Moscow streets to my hotelroom and waited. I lay on my bed and closed my eyes but I did not sleep.

Now that the rain was gone the heatlingered like smoke on a windless day.

I had waited over forty years to know myfather's secret. Another few hours was nothing.

The sun was shining on the Swallow Hills,flowers blooming in the gardens of the big wooden houses that overlook theMoscow River. The address was one of the old villas from the Tsar's time. Abig, rambling place with a white picket fence and clapboard windows and flowerboxes out front.