Lebel and the passengers were finally ledacross the snowy tarmac to the terminal by one of the KGB men. Inside, two moremen were waiting, standing beside a long metal table, where the passengers'bags would be examined.

Lebel identified his bag from a trolleyand the man opened it and thoroughly examined the contents. When he hadfinished, he indicated for Lebel to move to another official sitting nearby,waiting to check passports. The man, whom Lebel knew from previous visits, wasKGB. He examined the passport along with the official document declaring Lebelan honorary Soviet citizen, then stamped the passport and handed it backwithout a flicker of recognition.

There was a Zil and a driver waiting, asusual, for since his outburst years before the Ministry of Foreign Trade hadtreated Lebel royally. When he stepped inside it drew away from the curb.

Lebel liked the cosmopolitan, noisyatmosphere of Moscow there were Russians, Slavs, Mongolians, lots of Chinese,and a hundred other ethnic faces. It reminded him a little of New York, exceptthat it was slower, colder, there were no really excellent restaurants, and itwas much more drab.

But nothing could have been drabber thanMoscow's hotels. There were only four in the capital which were used forforeign visitors, and the best by far was the Moskva on Marx Prospect, with agrand frontage and a summer cafe terrace that overlooked the Kremlin. TheMoskva was the chief hotel assigned to important visiting foreigners and dignitaries.Lebel used it as his office, although he already had an official bureauassigned to him with a staff of three Ministry of Foreign Trade employees,situated near the Arbat. It was a drab two-room place he avoided as much aspossible.

As the Zil pulled up outside the hotel,there was a uniformed militiainan on duty at the entrance, wearing a long blueovercoat with red and white tabs. Lebel told the man from the Ministry hewouldn't need him or the car until the next morning at nine-he had a meeting todiscuss his next shipment-and the Zil drove off.

Whenever Lebel stepped into the Moskva itreminded him of a magnificent, if somewhat dismal, palace. Vast, with miles ofdeserted polished marble halls and glittering chandeliers, it still gave ableak impression-there was no flower shop or newspaper stand, no concierge, andnot a uniformed bellboy in sight. Guests were expected to carry their own bags.

Lebel went to check in. The clerk wasbusy talking with two men in civilian clothes at the far end of the desk, whowere riffling through some index cards. One of them had a gloved false hand,and the other was a squat Mongol with slit eyes. The two men glanced briefly atLebel, then went back to their discussion with the clerk. When the clerkfinally came to attend to him after a long delay, he handed over his room keyalways for the same suite on the fourth floor-but did not ask to see apassport. That was up to the office known as the Service Bureau, across thehall, which was in reality the KGB's office in the hotel.

When he had finished checking in, Lebelcarried his bag across to a glass-fronted door.

He saw a woman seated behind a desk smileand gesture for him to enter.

"Back for more sable or just thesinful delights of Moscow, Henri?"

Lebel knew the woman well. She had onceworked at the Trade Ministry and spoke six languages, all fluently. Lebelsmiled. "Wild horses can't keep me away."

The woman took out a batch of forms andbegan filling them in. "How long's your stay?"

"Two nights."

"Tickets for the opera, theballet?"

"Not this time, Larissa. I've a busyschedule." Lebel handed over his passport and document of citizenship, andthe woman placed them in a metal tray that would go in the office safe. Bothpassport and document would be kept until his departure.

"Any foreign currency'?Valuables?" the woman inquired.

"No valuables, but I've got fivehundred dollars in cash. The same in Finnish marks."

Like all visitors and citizens, Lebel wasnot allowed to carry foreign currency, only rubles. He removed the money fromhis wallet, handed it across, and said playfully, "All for you, my sweetLarissa, if you'd let me take you out to dinner." The woman frowned andLebel said, "It's only a joke, Larissa."

."Don't joke, Henri. "The dutyofficer's around, doing his usual check on arriving visitors.

Lebel had come to@know most of theService Bureau personnel but had never got used to Russian paranoia and theirfear of authority. "Who's on duty this time?"

"A Major Lukin. You haven't met himbefore and he's only filling in. But he shouldn't keep you long. He and acomrade "Just left the office to check the re ister."

Every foreign visitor had to have hispassport checked and registered by the KGB 2nd Directorate officer on duty inthe Service Bureau. Performing such duties, the KGB men always wore civilianclothes. All guests from abroad, important or not, were- their responsibility.Lebel knew he had nothing to fear. His document of honorary citizenship meantit would be merely a perfunctory check. But this time, knowing what he had todiscuss with lrena, he felt a little nervous. He watched as the woman countedout the dollars and marks, filled in a form, then put the bills in the trayalongside the passport and had Lebel sign for both.

The door opened and the two men Lebel hadseen chatting with the desk clerk came in.

"M. Lebel? My name is Lukin, andthis is Comrade Kokui)ko." The man with the leather glove extended hisgood hand and shook Lebel's. The Mongol said nothing, just stared at him throughslit eyes, which made Lebel feel distinctly uncomfortable.

"How do You do." Lebelanswered.

"Just a short visit this time, Ibelieve?" Lukin said.

"I'm meeting with the Ministry ofForeign Trade tomorrow morning,. I think you'll find everything is in order."

"i'm sure it is." Lukin heldout his hand to the woman. "May I see Mr. Lebel's passport,Lari.@sa?"

The woman handed it across, along withthe document of citizenship. The major studied both, then held up Lebel'sdocument. "You have honorary citizenship, I see. We don't come across toomany of these."

"I do a lot of important business inMoscow. I'm a fur dealer and have an office here. I'm here to arrange ashipment of sable."

For some odd reason, even though themajor seemed polite enough, the man made Lebel feel uneasy. He put it down tohis own conscience, knowing what he was really in Moscow to do. and he triedhard to appear calm. In another two hours he would hopefully be out on thestreets of Moscow, going through his well-rehearsed routine of checking to makesure he had not been followed, before he carefully made his way to ]rena'sdacha. He was desperately looking forward to seeing her again, and excited bythe prospect of their future freedom together. But out of nervousness, heseemed to be explaining too much to Lukin.

The major was watching his face. Heseemed an intelligent sort, with eyes that looked at you intently, as ifpressing you to fill the void and talk. His Mongol colleague also just stoodthere, staring silently across. Lebel had the feeling that the major wassuspicious of something, but he tried to put it down to his own heightenedsense of' anxiety on this trip. He checked himself, stared back at Lukin, andsaid nothing more.

Finally, the major handed back thepassport and document to the woman, and said politely, "Enjoy your stay inMoscow, Mr. Lebel. I hope your business goes well."

"I'm certain it will."

New York.

February 19th, 5 Pm.

In the tenth-floor office of the SovietMission in the United Nations building in Manhattan that late afternoon, FeliksAkashin stood hunched over the half-dozen black-and-white photographs andfrowned as he scratched the mole on his jaw.